


Was there ever friends now, such as you and I Jack?

by orphan_account



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gay, Kinda, M/M, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Vingettes, as per my usual bullshit, kisses? a father figure? sea shanties?, title has no relation to the jack in the show lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 13:39:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13296039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Billy grows up on the sea and becomes an invaluable member of the Walrus





	Was there ever friends now, such as you and I Jack?

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! i just finished s2 of black sails and i have.... so many feelings about these characters. billy surprised me a lot, cause i originally pegged him as a golden boy, but he turned out to be a lot more, which i thought was so cool... anyways  
> all i kno about sea jargon is from when my 5th grade class spent the weekend on a turn of the century cargo boat and i was head of the galley crew lol... i specifically remember loving the song leave her johnny, and we were all sad that we never got to sing it while working!  
> i hope you enjoy my fic, and i hope more of this ship shows up in the tag!  
> lyrics from uhhhhh one of the shanties i remember from being a kid lol idk the name

His parents had loved him very much, but they had respected him more. In the morning light, Billy had stood, taller than most children his age, back straight and eyes twinkling with pride. The days he was sent out to distribute pamphlets always ended with his father’s smile, a pat on the back. His mother’s laughter filled the room as his father smiled at the table. Soon there would be a new child in the family with more laughter, more kisses on the cheek, more hugs. This was his life, well loved and well cared for, even if the circumstances were dire. Even as a child, he was content with this, for he knew he was apart of something greater than himself.

…

Some years later, the boy stood at the bow of an unfamiliar ship on an unfamiliar sea, his eyes locked on the last breath of light out on the horizon. The past three years had come and gone in a blur, while the past three days had felt like a century. Who were these men who had attacked the ship? Who were these men below deck eating and singing and causing more noise than he had heard in his life? Billy did not flinch anymore, not even when he heard heavy footsteps behind him.

“Would you eat?” the man said behind him softly. His voice was odd against the rest, like he had once been anything but a pirate. Maybe he had been a farmer, or a pastor, but not the kind of men he had been warned about for his whole life. “You must be starving.”

Billy watched as the clouds passed over the moon. He shuddered as a hand touched his shoulder.

“My name is Gates, I’m the quartermaster here.” he paused, “If you’re hungry later, come see me, alright?”

He looked over at the man. Despite the grime and sweat, he was smiling- a real, genuine smile. “Alright?” he asked again.

“Alright.” Billy nodded.

…

Captain Flint stood port beam, squinting through a brass telescope at a boat out before them. He nodded, “Alright, men, you know the deal. We’re boarding this one. Mr. Gates, take us close.”

“Yessir.” Gates nodded before turning to the men. Billy went to work as the Walrus gained length on their target, the Brigadier, a hefty cargo ship hailing towards the Bahamas. Promised on board was textiles, meant for the rich and lofty English settlers. Billy threw rope over itself and pulled hard, the topsail blowing out against the wind. He didn’t know why he was so excited, the first ship was always the scariest, Mr. Gates had told him. He looked back up at the captain climbing the stairs to the foredeck, a small, private smile on his lips. Billy knew why he was itching to board; he wanted to prove himself.

…

From his position on the shore, he could see into the captain’s tent. Billy was pulling back on the rope, helping the men to careen the boat to shore. A man stood before the captain’s desk, appearing rather small despite his average build. They were speaking to each other with a serious look on the captain’s face. Suddenly, the young man smiled. Billy blinked back surprise. The two shook hands the man took off his spectacles.

“C’mon, Billy, we don’t have all day!”

“Sorry, sir.” he replied, turning back to his men.

That evening while the men who stayed at camp surrounded a fire, the captain walked before them, the same man from the tent standing behind him. Without announcing himself, the camp fell silent. “Men, welcome Mr. Dufresne aboard, he’s our new books after Mr. Hubbard’s passing.”

Billy watched the man look out at his new fellows, something like terror across his face. Mr. Dufresne nodded at the men, trying obviously to not look any of them in the eye. “I’m sure the men’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew tomorrow, but for now-” Flint used his power to look every man dead in the eye at once, “get him some beer or something, make merry.” he patted Dufresne on the back just a little too hard before leaving him to the fishes.

Most of the crew were younger men, but Billy had been the first real child they had taken aboard years ago. It was at age eleven he began his time on the Walrus, and he certainly understood isolation because of his age. Mr. Dufresne was not a child, not by any extent, but he was roughly the same age as Billy, and neither were yet really adults. By this qualification alone, Billy made it his duty to smile when Dufresne looked his way.

The man took a breath, looked back where the captain’s tent lay, and walked towards Billy.

“Hey, Dufresne, yeah?” Billy asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, a nervous smile on his lips.

“Any first name?”

Dufresne frowned, thinking for a moment before saying, “No, no first name.”

“That’s alright.” he said. “I’m Billy, nice to meet you, Mister Dufresne.”

Dufresne shook the hand Billy offered, his anxious smile turning into a laugh. “Nice to meet you too, Billy.”

…

There was something about Flint that scared Billy. Maybe it was his seemingly endless pool of knowledge, proving that there was more to him than a worn pirate captain. Maybe it was his ruthlessness, the bloodlust that was only visible when it was a benefit to him, his calculative nature that weighed men not by their souls but value of their work. Or maybe, Billy thought as he swayed in his too small hammock, it was how powerful his trust was. If Flint said he trusted someone, he meant it. The men that earned that trust were indestructible in battle, infallible until they weren’t, until Flint decided they weren’t. Billy wondered when Flint’s trust in him would run dry.

He climbed out of the hammock and crouched under the door, out onto the main deck. Stars were covered by thick, low-hanging clouds, only the smallest light showing through from the moon. If not for the low voices whispering on the foredeck, he could’ve believed he was dead, lost in some place at the back of his consciousness.

“It’ll never be easy.” one voice said. “You know that, and you know your men trust you- I trust you.”

There was a moment before the other voice came. Billy tried to look over the sea, to pretend to not hear. “We’re all criminals waiting for judgement, Gates.” Billy frowned, Mr. Gates and Captain Flint, worrying about the future? They were unflappable, how could they worry about the Last Day? “It’s almost dawn, have you slept yet?” the voice came from Flint, no doubt, but the words sounded odd in his voice.

“Have you?” Gates said.

“I’ll sleep when that day we worry about comes.” he laughed. He could imagine Gates shaking his head.

“Goodnight, captain.”

“Goodnight.”

As the man passed down the stairs and by Billy, he patted him on the shoulder, “Get some sleep, Billy.”

“Yessir.”

Gates left through the door, meaning just the captain was alone on the deck. He wondered how he would react if he had known a crewmate was on deck. Something about how he spoke indicated a looseness in his ever hard frown. Maybe he had even smiled.

“Billy.” Flint said from behind him. Billy turned suddenly. “Can’t sleep?”

“Sorry, sir, I-”

“No need.” he stepped beside him and rested his arms on the edge of the ship. “It’s not nerves, is it?”

“No, sir.” the captain was looking out at the waters. His frown still had not returned. In the darkness, Billy could just make out a man many years younger than Captain Flint. “Just habit, I suppose.”

He nodded and looked down, over at Billy. He was a strange man, Billy had known that the day the ship he worked on had been boarded. But his strangeness was unpredictable and worrying. He had seen it twice before. Once, when he offered Billy a new life. The second time came when Billy finally spoke again, in full, complete sentences, two years after his rescue. It struck something in Flint that Billy hadn’t realized was there. He told him of his parents and their dissent, and the child that was to come. In return, Flint thanked him for his honesty, told him he was valued here on the Walrus, and said he once had another life too. There was more to that story, he knew, but it wasn’t his to ask for, or even to ponder.

Now he stood close enough to Flint to see him in the dark, close enough to ask how much deeper that story went. Why was such a well read, smart, handsome man here on a pirate ship in the central Atlantic, and not in a manner in England? Billy’s hand went to Flint’s forearm, and their eyes met. He felt like a rabbit grabbing a fox by the paw, like he was tempting Death itself.

“Billy-”

“Thank you, captain.” his heart was beating up into his throat. “I owe my life to you.”

Flint’s free hand grasped Billy’s upper arm, “You owe me nothing.”

“I would be dead-”

“You owe me nothing.” Billy stopped, “You owe your brothers, but you owe me nothing.” Flint’s frown crossed his face like it had never left, “Go to bed, Billy. Rest.”

He looked across Flint’s face for something- what, he did not know. All he could rationalize as Flint let go of him and walked to his quarters was that he would never understand him. All he could do was follow.

…

The crew liked Dufresne. All but a few tried to get him to eat with them, sing with them, laugh with them. And Dufresne tried to reciprocate. He tried to drink with them and learn their jokes, but there was something missing in the translation between pirate conversation and the words that he was bursting at the seams with. He could drink well, eat well, and even had a palatable voice compared with the rest of the crew, but everyone could see he was rather out of place with the rest of them.

Billy and Dufresne had talked amicably and far more politely than what the rest of the men would consider friendly for two pirates, but stayed in their own spheres. Billy, a likeable and invaluable member of the crew who spent much of his time with Mr. Gates and even the captain; Dufresne, a bookish man who just tried to survive on the food they were given. It was not until they set camp up on Nassau after a particularly bloody raid that Dufresne actively sought out company.

Billy had had his fill of his drunk crewmates, and without the vocation’s signature lust, he sat quite alone on a dark beach, watching their ship rock on the ocean, hundreds of meters away.

“Do you mind if I- uh, if I join?” he looked over. Dufresne stood in a clean set of clothing, hair damp.

“Well, you look too nice to be a pirate.” he laughed, “of course, sit down.”

Dufresne smiled and fell down into the sand. “Not going to drink?” Billy asked.

He shrugged, “I get awful hangovers.”

“Ah, understandable.”

“And you?”

“Well, I’ll go to Hell if I do.”

“Really?” Dufresne asked, surprised at Billy’s comment.

“I’m not serious.” he laughed.

Dufresne shook his head, “I thought you were the most trustworthy on board.” he said with a laugh.

“No, that’s the cat, I’m the second most trustworthy.”

Billy watched as Dufresne glanced at him before quickly averting his eyes. "Say," he began, "How old are you?"

“Me?” he said, “Oh, I think I’m about twenty- lost track.”

“Twenty?” Billy smiled, “When did you join the whole pirating business?”

“This ship’s my first.”

He bumped his shoulder into him, “No, shit, really?”

“Why, when did you join?” Dufresne looked back at him.

Billy quieted for a second, “I was eleven.”

“Oh,” he said, “Wow.”

Most of the crew knew by way of rumor, but only a handful of the men who were on board when Billy joined were still there, and the details of his life were kept under lock and key by Mr. Gates. “They saved me-”

“Who?” Dufresne leaned in.

“Gates and Flint. They saved my life.”

It had been years since he had confided in anyone outside of Gates. Where the men were notorious for spilling secrets to the brothel workers, to the tavern keepers, to anyone for any reason, Billy had learned Gates’s secrecy like a good son. But Dufresne, in the low light, watching him like they were the only two people alive made his mouth move without his consent. In a matter of minutes, his new friend had become the few among them who knew Billy for what his past was.

Dufresne, in turn, gave a retelling of his story. Born in Boston to a mother and no father, he was shipped to his grandmother in France, and then to an uncle in England. The uncle had cared for him, but only just, and brought him to the New World at the same time Billy was being given a home on the Walrus. When his uncle died without an heir, he received the small home in Cuba, but sold it and made his way to Nassau after learning of his father’s whereabouts.

“And you joined us to find him?”

Dufresne shrugged, “I don’t quite know why I joined you.”

Billy put a hand on his knee, “I don’t know if anyone really does.”

…

It was hard not to smile at him every time they passed each other. After the night on the beach, Dufresne had sat nearly every night across from Billy during meals. They spent the days in Nassau together, the free time on board next to one another talking, watching, reading. It was hard not to see the two as connected at the hip, and it was hard to not see how Dufresne was joining his fellows more, laughing more, even chancing a drink now and then. Mr. Gates had told him he was grateful that they had made friends, and they were better men for it. If Billy was honest with himself, he knew that before he was told it.

Sometimes, when they were alone, either on sea at night when neither could sleep, or on the shore at day, Billy would catch himself starring. Dufresne would keep reading like he was invested in the book the captain had so graciously lent to him, but he’d never turn the page. Sometimes, he’d flip it, but go back to the last one and start over. It made Billy feel nervous, but in a way that made him light inside.

On some occasions, it was the other way around. Billy could feel his friend looking at him as he spoke to the crew, or when he told stories at dinner. Whenever the captain spoke and all was silent save for his voice, he knew he could look up and see Dufresne from across the ship, trying to tell him something through his mind, like they were both psychic.

It was a fun game, until people noticed. Billy had never been shy. Sure, he had his ups and downs in terms of speaking, but he’d never hid himself from view, or away from positions of leadership. But during those meetings when he’d catch his friend, he’d see someone else looking between them, making him drop his gaze. Dufresne was far more private than him, he couldn’t risk embarrassing him.

It was a night where Dufresne had gotten drunk and passed out- a rare occasion- and Billy was alone in his wakefulness on deck. He could hear the sounds of a party from below deck, but was quite content on the bow of the ship.

Without a sound, he knew Mr. Gates was behind him. This had become a somewhat regular occurance, their conversations at night. “Are you ready land tomorrow?” Mr. Gates asked, stepping beside him.

“You know how I love it so.” Billy said with some humor.

“I do.” he said, falling silent. Billy looked at him, his father, his friend, the only person on the ship who cared more about him than their own self. He knew he had more to say. “You know I’m glad you and Mr. Dufresne are friends.”

“I know.”

“Then you do know I’m glad that it’s made you happier.”

“I do.”

“Billy,” he said, quietly. He knew what would come next, “You deserve more than this.”

Billy blinked. “I don’t-”

“You deserve a better life than this. You could do- you could be so much happier, away from this.”

“Mr. Gates, this is my home.”

“I’m well aware of that.” he said. He was thinking of something troubling, something he did not want to burden Billy with. He couldn’t decipher quite what it was if it hadn’t been the issue of Billy and Dufresne- closest friends on board, but when Gates pulled him into a tight hug, he knew it was serious.

He closed his eyes. In his mind, he could see himself a small child, with a warm fire beside him and his mother knitting at the table. He could hear the church bells ringing outside and the bustle of people in the streets. A pipe had been lit, something was cooking on the stove. But when he opened his eyes, he saw Mr. Gates stepping back.

“You’re meant for something bigger than us, son. Something- something greater than this.” he said, hand on his shoulder.

Billy let a breath he didn’t know he was holding lose. “Thank you, Mr. Gates. But I have a duty to this crew. If I’m meant for something greater, it’ll be alongside my brothers, you know that.”

Gates sighed, his hand dropping, “I know. Just, Billy,” he looked up, “be careful.”

“I will.”

Deep into the night, Billy finally felt the itch of sleep. He climbed down the stairs into the crew’s quarters and stepped past the sleeping men. It was almost sweet, seeing all these fellow hardened criminals sleeping soundly. At the end of the row was his empty hammock, swaying back and forth, he had almost made it without waking anyone. But next to him he could see Mr. Dufresne’s hand over the side of the hammock. He stepped forward and grabbed it gently, resting it over the over on his chest. His friend’s glasses were still on, crooked over his closed eyes. Billy felt his chest tighten and felt impulsive. He looked around one more time and then quickly, quietly, pressed his lips to his forehead. Dufresne shifted in his sleep and Billy smiled.

…

…

...

Several years later, the La Belle surrendered. The Walrus men had rejoiced at the end of a long haul, with the cargo safely secured in the Walrus’s hull. It was a small miracle that it took only one death for the captain of the La Belle to pass over the contents of the ship. After several weeks of sailing, tracking, and evading, they were finally to go home, to Nassau. As soon as they set west, dinner was being prepared with what little remained.

“Go and get pissed, you hear me?” Mr. Gates had laughed merrily with the crew. “But be ready for tomorrow!”

‘Yessir’s passed all around. Billy had recently lost a best with Dufresne.

“-O-oh leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage’s long and the winds don’t blow-”

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her-”

Billy knocked his head against Dufresne’s, “Why do you always sing the sad one’s- Dufresne, Dufresne-” he slid down the seat, his head resting against his friend’s chest as he looked up at the man. He laughed, a hand reaching up and touching the side of his face, “Hey-”

Dufresne looked down at Billy’s lopsided smile and tried to contain his laughter. “Billy-”

He hummed the tune, his eyes flicking shut while his hand remained on Dufresne’s cheek. “Oh, the voyage is done an’ the wind don’t blow-” he laughed again.

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her.” Dufresne finished. He placed his hand over Billy’s, and the other on the nape of his neck.

Billy’s heart was racing, he was far closer to his friend- his friend- than he had ever been. And here, on the ship, in the empty galley- how was it empty? Dufresne’s hair was getting long, and stubble was showing. How interesting, he thought, he’s much more pretty up close. He closed his eyes again, enjoying how time had slowed down for them, before it suddenly sped back up.

Dufresne had dropped his hands and was staring up. Billy mustered enough sobriety to roll over and face the captain, standing at the doorway.

“There’s a fight,” He said, matter-of-fact. “Mr. Gates says you’d best quell it.”

“I don’t know if he’s-” Dufresne began, but Billy had already pulled himself up to his feet.

“Of course, sir.”

Dufresne stood up behind him, watching as Flint nodded to him on his way out. “Coming?” he asked him.

“Yes, captain.” Dufresne followed out the door.

…

The vague strip of not-blue at the horizon rolled into view. Billy could see it through the windows of the captain’s quarters. He sat opposite of the captain, next to Gates, with Singleton leaning against the wall. Billy was listening intently, as he always did, but something was distracting him today.

“And that’s all.” Flint said, closing the log on his desk.

“Everything?” Mr. Gates asked.

“But how’re we supposed to take that kind of cargo across the sea without anyone suspecting anything?” Singleton huffed.

Flint considered this, “We’ve done it before.”

“We lost eight good men on that run, don’t tell me you’re willing to do it again just for-”

“I think with Billy as our boatswain we’ll be in good hands.” Mr. Gates spoke, nodding at him.

“Mr. Gates is right, Mr. Singleton, we’ll be in good hands. As long as Billy has no qualms with our plan.” Flint looked him the eye, “Do you?”

“No, sir. I understand what needs to be done.”

“Good, good.” Gates stood up. “Business as usual?”

“Yes, you’re all dismissed.” Flint said, Billy began to rise “Except Billy- I’d like to speak with him for a moment.”

Boatswain, he had always been somewhat of the ship’s boatswain. They had lost theirs just a few months ago, the gap evident in the ship’s running. But even when Mr. Marbh had been around, Billy had been right there beside him. Was Flint really worried about him taking the role he had always almost had?

Singleton shut the door and Billy sat back down.

“Sir?” Billy asked as Flint rose.

“You can read.” he said, not a question.

“Yes, captain.”

“Have you read the Illiad?”

“No, sir.”

Flint looked out at Nassau growing larger in front of them, “You and Mr. Dufresne are close.”

This is what it had been about. Despite being inebriated, Billy remembered with clarity the look on Flint’s face when he had walked in. Of course, they were two drunk sailors who were close friends, that’s all it had been.

“I don’t understand.”

Flint looked at him, then back out to sea, “Be careful.” He said, echoing what Mr. Gates had said in warning life times ago.

“What you think you saw-” Billy began, something like anger suddenly bubbling up in his chest, “Whatever you think you saw- look at me,” Flint looked back, startling Billy. Again, like when he had held him and told him he owed him no dues, his frown was gone. He couldn’t tell what the emotion he was witnessing was. But it didn’t matter, whether it was pity, or disappointment, or- or understanding, he didn’t want it. “You were wrong.”

Flint remained silent as Billy stood up and headed for the door. “Our upcoming expedition will be your finest. I expect no less.” he said.

“Thank you, sir.” he said, and then left.

…

He could’ve sworn in happened in a dream.

One second, he was leaving on a long boat to shore, the next second, he stood in the tavern watching his men get drunk. He was quartermaster now. Singleton was dead. Riches beyond their wildest dreams were ahead of them. Maybe some men got drunk on that, but Dufresne was walking next to him and they were heading into a dark area. He was being handed an orange, told a story about a girlfriend, and he felt a warm hand on his own.

He snapped out of it to find himself sitting on a bench in a dark, deserted alleyway, Dufresne sitting so close he could feel him next to him with his eyes closed. A half eaten orange sat on his knees, and the sound of the city murmured so quiet it was hard to be sure they were still in Nassau.

“I’m glad to have gotten to know you.” Dufresne said, looking down the exit of the alley. No one had passed for minutes.

“Me too.” Billy said.

“Has anyone ever spoken to you-” he began, “nevermind.” he gave a disaffected laugh.

“No, what?” he asked.

Dufresne frowned, “Billy, has anyone spoken to you about us?”

“Us?”

“As friends.” he said, “Who we are.”

Yes. “No.” Several times, actually. How many things had he lied about in this week alone? But Dufresne visibly relaxed, and Billy was glad he wasn’t raised a Puritan.

“Perfect.” he said with a small smile. Billy touched his cheek and he looked up at him. He remembered something that Gates had told him- he had asked him to defect. He wondered if there was a version of themselves where they became farmers, or traveled to Europe, or inland into the Americas. If there was a world where they were peaceful men who were content to raise cattle and sow wheat.

Maybe Dufresne was thinking it too- they had always understood each other like that. So it was a promise being made when Dufresne grasped Billy’s collar and gently brought him down to him, and it was a covenant being sealed as he closed the distance between them with a kiss.

Billy smiled sweetly against Dufresne lips and let himself return the vow to their futures, let himself move to touch his friend’s arm and be whole in this moment. He moved back, quietly, and they laughed. The world was uncertain, their lives a mess of politics and bloodshed, but there was still time to be human. Dufresne kissed him again, and pulled him up to his feet.

…

A young Billy held his first sword, putting it up against the sky and watching as the metal reflected the light.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

He had expected, of all people, Mr. Gates to have gifted it to him. It was he who promised to teach him how to fight, after all. They were to practice together in the real way, Gates had said, the kind of sword fighting “us uncivilized folk” knew nothing of. Sure there was slashing and poking and all that good and bloody stuff, but it was an art too. Gates trusted him with both more things than he could’ve ever dreamed of as a prisoner, but less than even his real father had. He had ruffled at the thought of Billy holding a gun, only to give him a bigger one to wield when the time came to use it.

“It suits you.” Captain Flint said. “I don’t say this much, because I don’t believe it much, but-” he walked up to him and looked down. Billy squared his shoulders and met his gaze. “You’re destined for great things.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
